


A Great Day

by BedsideManner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Coffee Shops, Derek Feels, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Lonely Derek, Love at First Sight, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, Pining Derek, Snarky Stiles, Starbucks, Typos, Writer Stiles, derek likes to secretly scribble on coffee cups
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BedsideManner/pseuds/BedsideManner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another prompt fill </p><p>"For a Starbucks it’s a pretty quiet place where people come to study or be by themselves, he’d bounced around a few coffee shops before settling on this one for that reason. Generally it’s a place where he can pretend he’s around people, somewhere he can hide in plain sight and tell himself he's met his daily quota. That he's normal, that this tin can man isn't completely rusted over inside.<br/>But this kid is damn noticeable."</p><p>In which Derek is just trying to learn how to exist again and Stiles is a raging screenwriter with writer's block</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Great Day

**A Great Day**

He’s slumped in a seat studiously squinting at the screen. The majority of the page a mocking, glaring white. He’s been nursing the same frothy, cavity inducing concoction for the best part of an hour and yet zero progress has been made. Well, a game of online chess has been won but he’s not one to toot his own trumpet. It’s another of those typical mating romcoms. Wolf meets human, wolf makes an ass of himself on multiple occasions and yet fast forward a few scenes and they’re kissing with wild abandon having declared their undying love for each other. Stiles wants to write about violence. He wants to capture the character of a surly detective with a tragic past whose only salvation is finding all the vermin and locking them away through any means possible. How what he lacks in strength he makes up for tenfold in brains and sheer preserverence. Quick witted, sharp and yet respected by alphas across the country even though he’s only human. He wants to make something, anything that doesn’t end up being another watered down version of the multifaceted creature he’d conjured in his mind for the sake of pulling in ratings. Reduced to being the human fill between the wolf punching in faces and his plethora of onscreen kisses with girl characters he can’t quite remember the names of. But the characters are premade cookie cutter types the head commissioned himself. He’s got no choice but to leaf through the character profiles sighing and groaning with great ardour. Tapping his pencil and bumping the tops of his knees at the round coffee table until he gets a couple scathing looks from the hipster trust fund types. Stiles has no such luxuries, he’s learned he must keep his smart mouth in check for a cheque. Alas, scripts on a blah romance with wolf A and human B in a kudos-for-originality environment it is. Said environment turns out to be a coffee shop, _surprisingly_ (not). Stiles likes to think of himself as more of a method screenwriter so to speak, that and the WiFi ain’t too shabby in this joint. He’s spent the hour agonising about the woes that be so it’s about high time to get productive. Stiles manages to set the scene and even a few lines of dialogue before he’s back to groaning all over again.

Derek wasn’t dropped on the head as a child or anything. There’d been a lot of rough housing, sure. They were a pack of wolves after all. But he hadn’t been a particularly slow child or clubbed in the back of the head with a baseball bat…much. There was no real reason why he was so emotionally stunted, unless you factored in trauma. He had a whole closet of rattling bones, things he wasn’t quite ready to talk about. Things he wouldn’t ever be ready to talk about. He’d catch sight of a photograph, a familiar tinny laugh or even a scent of someone’s favourite meal and the familiar ache would swell in his chest. Like the tide pulling in to drag him under, it was as though his whole body would seize. His hands would fist, jaw would clench and he’d sit there stoic as stone. A statue of a man waiting out the vicious storm. The picture of strength and yet his heart stuttered, his eyes stung. He’d lost everyone. Most days felt like hitting repeat. He’d get up, work out, hit the showers. He’d wander around the shops like some abandoned mutt. Didn’t have a job because he hadn’t quite figured out how to function properly in society yet. He was getting better, maybe worse. Things started to blur and it became hard to tell sometimes. He hadn’t had a good day in a while now. But he still tried, sitting in his normal seat at the same coffee shop with the same beverage counted as trying, right? He wasn’t holed up in the dark drinking liquor laced with wolfsbane, that would be the easy way out. Only today is a little different for once. He’s used to seeing the regulars and they tend to keep to themselves much like he did. For a Starbucks it’s a pretty quiet place where people come to study or be by themselves, he’d bounced around a few coffee shops before settling on this one for that reason. Generally it’s a place where he can pretend he’s around people, somewhere he can hide in plain sight and tell himself he's met his daily quota. That he's normal, that this tin can man isn't completely rusted over inside. But this kid is damn noticeable. He leans back in his chair so far Derek’s sure he’s going to end up cracking his head open. He stretches his arms way above his head to work out the kinks and almost knocks out a poor barista bustling past. And then there’s the constant barrage of huffing, the way he types something and then promptly deletes it giving the screen a funny look. Smooshing his face out of frustration while all hunched over the object of his eternal anguish. And Derek…Derek thinks it’s kind of, sort of completely and utterly adorable…maybe. Even before he catches his eyes like liquid sunshine and dimples to die for when he apologises sheepishly with a small smile. He doesn’t even care if the second person he’s almost assaulted is okay because fuck…He wants to go over and distract this guy even more in ways that would definitely get him banned for life. But then he’s up and standing right behind him and he can’t quite remember ever giving his body permission to do that. And he must have sensed something because he’s turning around and fixing Derek with an expectant look and his brain’s screaming abort, abort. Only it’s too God damn late to abort. “So…?” Stiles is not quite up for whatever flavour of shit this dude is trying to serve. He’s already chased someone else out of the store with his eyes alone when he finally decided to give them a taste of their own medicine. He’s the all father of communicating with the look. Forty percent brains and sixty percent sass, you’d best write that down now lest you forget. Stiles likes to think he’s a pro at reading people though, he’s more of a quick thinker and observer. He’d meditate his way out of a locked box rather than punch. But this guy is really giving him nothing. Like seriously folks, nada, zilch. He prepares himself for upping the anti and tilts his head even more to the side so now he just looks silly.

“Soooooo…?” He knows he’s being a tool. Usually he might even smile and ask politely what’s up. Stiles can’t quite figure out if this is some weird prank or if this shady character is about to whip out a gun and declare a stick up. On the bright side he’d probably get extra time to write, maybe even get on the news so he could wave to his Dad. Sheriff Stilinksi would not be best pleased. He ends up turning back to his work with an eye roll though. But to his great dismay, creepy behind him there doesn’t seem to get the hint. Stiles is nothing but stubborn, he’d use every bit of willpower he could muster to ignore the ominous presence. But then when he hears the distinct sharp intake of breath from behind him a beat later, a tick of annoyance goes off in his jaw as he continues to type. Albeit a bit more angrily and with more stabby motions than before. A few minutes later and he hears an actual “oof” coming from the wolf he so dearly wants to smack upside the head with said laptop. What does ‘oof’ even mean? What, was the other magically a seasoned screenwriter now? Could everyone but him apparently do his job better? At the suspicious sound of a muffled snigger Stiles finally drew the line, spinning around in his chair. “What? What are you here for!? Oh let me guess, you think you can do this better than me, huh? Well let me tell you something, I went to-” “Assisting…” He had the audacity to stand there then staring him dead in the eye, then pointedly back at the document. All with a carefully trained blank face that seemed strained. As if Stiles was the one who’d swallowed the crazy pill here. As if there was some kind of inside joke he wasn’t getting. The wolf repeated the word again slower this time as if it communicated everything. But instead of mocking, it seemed as though the poor guy had to really concentrate if that furrowed brow was anything to go by. “Whatever dude…” Derek had looked like he’d wanted to say something else but instead had ended up opening and closing his mouth a few times and diverting his gaze, awkwardly shuffling his feet instead. Stiles didn’t even feel a little bit sorry when he made his escape soon after. Of course, that was the beautiful moment he decided to reread his work and almost did fall right out of his chair. Making an indignant sound before whipping his head around to make sure he was no longer there and slamming the laptop shut. 'He had been _assfisting_ the client…’

Somehow Derek was the one who felt stupid. Like a great clumsy puppy who didn’t know his own strength and had toppled over the family vase. He found it was an emotion he got every single time the guy looked his way. He’d hustled out there as quick as his leaden legs would let him. Because really, _really!?_ Had he just gone up to a fellow caffeine addict in the hopes of delivering a pick up line only to point out typos? What a dick move. And yet when he finally got home and stumbled in to be confronted with his own reflection he found something foreign there. Even raising a hand to trace the offending quirk of the lip. An actual smile. No, actual laughter bubbling up from his chest and making him clutch his side. Derek Hale had just been verbally attacked by a stranger, a stranger who’d just been so damn adorably wrong with the cutest moles and button nose. Yes, today was a good day.

Hell, it was a _great_ day.

**Author's Note:**

> So let me know what you think. I definitely want to get more into the gritty of the Derek feels, my aim is to make someone cry mwha. But hopefully I can keep some bits light for comic relief. Next chapter features Derek scribbling coffee cup messages and then throwing them away because he's so terrible at life and the feels.  
> Stay tuned!  
> Much loves x


End file.
